


sometimes the best that you can do is just survive

by girlsarewolves



Series: in every lifetime [2]
Category: Skinwalkers (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they forget what they're surviving for; what separates them from the dead animals - dead humans - that are everywhere now. Existing just to exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes the best that you can do is just survive

* * *

They can hear the shuffle of feet, of dozens of bodies shambling ahead in a cluster. Hungry, mindless, creatures of base instinct that only exist to exist.  
  
She reaches for him; grabs the hand no holding the desert eagle. She squeezes and muffles the sound of her breathing against his back.  
  
He squeezes back.  
  
They hunker down in the shed and pray to each other that the dead animals walking can't hear them, can't smell them. They don't believe in anything except themselves and the danger outside and the weapons in their hands.  
  
A desert eagle with two bullets left and a rusted pipe coated in black, coagulated blood.  
  
It's almost an hour after they no longer hear any noise before they move; before they let go. They don't speak, merely squeeze their interlaced fingers tight and then withdraw their hands. Tear into the food rations they discovered, greedily drinking down the water from the old well outside of the shed.  
  
Always with one hand on their weapons.  
  
They don't try to hide in houses anymore. Those aren't safe; the walkers always look there, like some part - lost and forgotten and rotting away - still remembers that houses are for people.  
  
It's a miracle they were able to get as much food and water from the house and well before the groaning made them freeze. Before the shuffling made them run and hide and block the door of the wooden tool shed just big enough for them to walk in circles or lay curled up together.  
  
They're a good team; always have been. Even before. They've only gotten better since.  
  
It's a familiar, intimate silence. Talking in contented sighs after eating, in looks and touches. Hands brushing close, shoulders pressing together. Nose nuzzling his cheek, face in the crook of her neck, foreheads resting against each other.  
  
Always with one hand on their weapons.  
  
It isn't until the light dies out and they know it's been hours since the corpses moved on that they let go. And then they find each other in the dark, tugging and pulling and finding all the sweet spots they have memorized. They don't need to see to know where to let their hands and mouths roam.  
  
It's rushed and desperate and demanding. Frantic for that connection, that taste of passion and lust and love to remember that they're human, they're alive, they're together. They don't say a word; they just speak in gasps and hard breathing. Soft, muted groans that they quickly hush with kisses.  
  
She doesn't orgasm until after him. Grinds her body against his and bites his earlobe, holding him as he comes. Strokes his hair and peppers his neck and shoulders and jaw with kisses until he's back to his senses.  
  
He moves a hand down and brushes his thumb over her clit. Lays her down and puts his other hand over her mouth, because she doesn't orgasm when she's worried about not making any sound. He kisses her temple and nuzzles her neck and strokes and strokes until she finally arches and digs her nails into his arms and cries into his hand.  
  
She can't remember the last time they were intimate; the last time they had the luxury. She can't remember how long it's been since she climaxed, and it's like a dam broke. She shakes and shakes for several minutes, gasping and blinking away tears.  
  
He smooths her hair with the hand that muffled her cry, wraps his other arm around her. Holds her and whispers reassurances in her ear.  
  
It's the first time he's spoken in days, maybe weeks. His voice is hoarse, but the familiarity of it only makes her eyes water more.  
  
When her body calms and they're laying on their sides, spooning, a mess of bodily fluids and tangled clothes, they reach for their weapons.  
  
Then they relax, finally.  
  
"Wake me when you need me," she whispers. The sound of her own voice, as hoarse as his, startles her.  
  
"I will. Get some rest."  
  
He's always been rejuvenated after sex. Always wakes up, gets a jolt of energy.  
  
She's always been the opposite.  
  
They've always been a good team, and lately, they've gotten even better. They've had to, to survive. Sometimes they forget what they're surviving for; what separates them from the dead animals - dead _humans_ \- that are everywhere now. Existing just to exist.  
  
She squeezes his hand once as he pulls away to sit up.  
  
He squeezes back.  
  
Reminding themselves they're humans. They're alive. Then they sleep in shifts, hidden away in the wooden shed.  
  
Always with one hand on their weapons.

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to give another AU scenario a try. Feedback appreciated!


End file.
